


The Man in the Tan Jacket

by mssrj_335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Altered Reality, Alternate Universe - Welcome to Night Vale Setting, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Creepy happenings, Frottage, Gore, Grace Sex, Horror, Kinda, Language, M/M, Major Character Injury, Missing Persons, Multiple Dimensions, Mutilations, Post season 5 AU, Slow Burn - kinda, Soul Energy, Soul Sex, Top Castiel, Winged Castiel, original lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9168658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Sam and Dean are called to Kings City, California to investigate a series of horrific mutilations.  Even Bobby seems spooked by the case.  They discover that, though the victims were killed at home, no one in the house remembers the murders.  The Winchesters dig deeper, aided by Castiel, and try to pin down the creature responsible.  But it looks like the creature might have the upper hand this time...Complete





	1. Day 1 (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Self-edited, sorry for mistakes!
> 
> I don't even know what this is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just bear with me on this chapter. It's shit but hopefully the rest improves

Day 1

 

      “I’m tellin’ ya, boy, yer the only two I can send on this case.  Two hunters already went missin’ down there.  This shitstorm needs experienced hands,” Bobby snapped.

 

Dean ran his hand over his face and sighed into the speaker.  “Yeah, alright Bobby.  We’ll uh, we’ll check it out.”

 

The old man huffed.  “Just watch yer asses out there.  I’m tellin’ ya, I got squat on this situation.  S’far as I can tell, Kings City California is Snoresville.  No recorded activity before this, no strange deaths, no nothin’.”

 

Dean was silent.

 

    “You uh, you might wanna call Cas in on this one.”

 

Dean sneered.  “Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence there, Bobby,” he said.  “Me ’n Sam can handle it, whatever it is.”

 

    “Just watch yer ass,” Bobby sighed.  “See ya later.”

 

Dean disconnected the call and flopped back on his bed.  He didn’t need to call Cas; Sam was back at 100%.  At least, he was making a good show of it if he weren’t.  Dean figured that if his time in Hell stuck with him, he had no illusions that it was the same for Sam.  But, they did what Winchesters did best: bury that shit and try to forget.

 

Before Death returned Sam’s soul, Cas stumbled across an Enochian spellbook hidden in the far reaches of the Garden.  He brought it to the Winchesters but to no end.  A spell made a memory block permanent, if a little thinner, but there was no way to work it without a block already in place.  So when Death agreed to return Sam's soul, Cas pulled the ace out of his sleeve.  Some new nightmares were better than insanity, Sam reasoned; no problem.  For once, it seemed like luck was fucking favoring them.  

 

Dean pinched his brow and settled against his crappy motel mattress.  Their winning streak had held long enough for Cas to get crafty and take out his winged dick of a brother for good.  Now, he had clean-up to do: Raphael's supporters needed to be ferreted out.  It wasn't like Dean could call him down for any old anything, even though a part of him wanted to.

 

He threw an arm over his eyes, determined to get at least a few hours of sleep.  What in California could be so difficult anyway?

 

 


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it starts to get a little gross, kids
> 
> Tags to note: gore, mutilations

Day 2

 

 

Sleep never came.  Dean rolled Baby into Kings City fifteen hours later, exhaustion heavy in his bones.  Sam was talking, giving him directions to one of the victim’s homes, he not really focused on anything in particular.  He turned at the left where Sam said to make a left and abruptly came back to reality.  A man in a tan jacket stood on the corner about two streets down to the right, staring.  Dean felt his hackles rise as he stared.  Even at the distance, it was goddamn unnerving.  He was unnaturally still and the air around him seemed to shimmer.  But, as Dean rounded the corner, the image of the man slipped away and the victim’s house pulled in view.

 

Sam stretched as he stepped from the car and strode to the door.  Dean hesitated, tension still tight in his shoulders even though he couldn’t quite remember why.

 

    “Mrs. Kings, FBI,” Sam called.

 

A short woman, hair sticking out from her head as though it hadn’t been combed in days, answered the door.  

 

    “I’ve already talked to the police.  I—I don't really remember anything," the woman muttered tearfully from the crack in her door. "One minute, there was a man in a, um, a tan jacket out on the corner and the next, Ted--"

 

She dissolved into tears and buried her face in her hands, shaking.  Dean glanced at Sam who shared his confusion.  Something was niggling at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t think of what.

 

    “Mrs. Kings," Sam said gently, "you were still in the house at the time of your husband's death.  You don't remember hearing any strange sights?  Smells?  Uh, cold spots or--"

 

    "I'm telling you, agent," the widow wept, "I have no idea what happened.”

 

Sam handed her his business card and exchanged another look with Dean.  “Thank you for your time.  Call us if you remember even the smallest thing.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

    "So, four victims in four weeks, but no one has any idea what happened?" Sam asked incredulously, traipsing down the rain-washed porch steps.

 

Dean shrugged and looked up the street, resting his arms on Baby’s roof.  “Same info from all witnesses, you said, right?  Some dude in a tan jacket stakes out their house then their loved ones end up dead.  Least, that’s what the locals have in the report.”

 

Sam’s mouth pinched and Dean could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of this hot mess.  Based on the witness statements, Dean stopped wondering why Bobby was so insistent to send them.  It wasn’t exactly out of their league.  After the damn Apocalypse, little was.  Still, the whole thing was making Dean’s skin crawl.

 

    “Guess we better check out the bodies.”

 

—

 

Dean immediately regretted suggesting seeing the bodies, covering his mouth with his hand unconsciously.  He’d seen some shit, for sure.  Bodies torn, guts strung in the street, bits of viscera and flesh painting the walls like a fresh coat.  But this—

 

This was like something he’d seen in Hell.  This was methodical, precise, but still something terrifyingly new.

  

    “Never seen anything like it,” the doctor murmured, echoing Dean’s thoughts with frightening clarity.  

 

Dean continued to stare, brain trying to pick apart the reasons that some supernatural bastard would do this.  

 

Four bodies were lined up on the coroner’s table.  At least, what was left of them.  The first body was only identified by what remained of her teeth, as were all the rest.  They’d been massacred, _mutilated_.  The corpses were missing their lower jaws.  Jesus, it looked like they’d been cut out, leaving the main arteries and veins around intact, skin peeled back to the clavicle.  The eyes were removed, optic nerves hanging out like puppetless strings.  Further down, the victims hands had the fingers removed, cut cleanly out of the sockets.  But the fingernails remained, embedded in the skin of their palms in a bloody semicircle.  The legs were removed below the knee, leaving the joint intact and the bone cut clean through.  Again, the nails were left, embedded in the top of the victims’ hands to mirror their fingernails.  

 

“Any—” Dean swallowed, cleared his throat.  “Any connection between the victims?”

 

The doctor shook his head.  “Not that I’m aware of,” he said.  “All just residents of Kings City.  The first victim was found a month ago, three more each seven days apart.”

 

    “Any idea how this could’ve happened?”

 

Again, he shook his head, looking fearfully between Sam and Dean.  “This town has around 13,000 people in it.  The last thing anyone even thinks of here is a serial killer.”

 

Dean hummed agreement and shuddered to himself.  Serial killer might be more appropriate than he first thought.

 

 

 

 

A quick ride put them at the police station, a secretary gave them to the sheriff.  Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat while they waited.

 

“Guess I should’ve expected the feds sooner or later.  Sorry to keep you waiting,” said a gruff voice. “Got all these killings going on, people going missing.  Now, something else has happened.” 

 

The sheriff—a grizzled bear of a man—shuffled in the door, looking more road-weary than even Dean felt.  The sheriff offered his hand.  “Guy Thompson.”

 

Dean cleared his throat and shook the proffered hand.  “Special Agent Tyler, this is Special Agent Rhodes,” he replied, gesturing to Sam.  “What d’you got on this, Sheriff?  What else happened?”

 

The old man sighed and shook his head.  “Boys, you know probably about as much as I do.  Four people have been killed in Kings City in a month.  Four more people have gone missing; just vanished into thin air.  Now, Hank Hamilton, the husband of the first victim, has just been reported dead.”  Sam and Dean exchanged startled looks.  “Neighbor just called up to the station, saying she heard all kinds of screaming going on.  Boys rolled up and thank God they didn’t find another one of these mutilations.”

 

“What did they find?” Sam asked, voice low.

 

The sheriff shrugged helplessly.  “They found Hamilton, alone in a locked house, lookin’ like he died of fright.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

    “Yeah, that’s what I’m tellin’ ya, Bobby,” Dean growled.  “Whatever this thing is, it’s ritualistic.  I haven’t seen this level of commitment to the fuckin’ grotesque since that last damn _Saw_ movie.”

 

    “But nobody remembers anything?”  Bobby’s voice was tinny on the speakerphone but still skeptical.

 

    “They all remember seeing a man in a tan jacket standing on their street corner,” Sam chimed in, “then, nothin’.  Next thing they know, their loved ones are served up like some horrific holiday ham.”

 

Dean’s skin crawled.  “And exactly four weeks after his wife died this poor bastard drops dead in a locked house.  Which means, if this pattern continues, we got less than seven days to figure this out before the next relation dies.  Think you can find us anything based on the ritual?”

 

Bobby sighed.  “I’ll get my feelers out.  In the meantime, don’t be dumbasses.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, thanks Bobby.  Later.”

 

Sam sat back in his crappy motel chair and stared at his laptop, as if staring hard enough would google the answers for him. 

 

“What was the name of the next victim, Sammy?” Dean asked quietly.

 

Sam started, jarred from thought, but flipped through the case file.  “Looks like Hamilton was the first.  Then, Kings, Jimenez, and Jacobs.  Those were just the ones that were mutilated.  Police report four missing persons: Scott and Hernandez, and the two hunters Garcia and Rodriguez.  Those four went missing exactly twenty-four hours after the murders.  No witnesses, no notes, no nothing.  Just…poof, all this after seeing a man in a tan jacket.”

 

Dean shook his head and got up to crack a beer.  “What’ve we gotten ourselves into, Sammy?”

 

 

 

 

Dean waited until the water was scalding before he stepped into the shower.  The sense of unease that sat with him since speaking with Mrs. Kings had been growing and growing.  Something big was going down here, and it wasn’t something Dean was sure anyone had seen before.  He ran through the facts in his head again:

 

Four brutal murders, each seven days apart, each in the victims own home at or around 12:00 AM.  Spouses all at home but having no recollection of the murders.  Four disappearances exactly twenty-four hours after each murder.  Dean let the water beat down on his back, puzzling.  _What was the connection?_

 

Dean’s head snapped up at the crisp sound of shattering glass.  Immediately, he tore the curtains open, shoved his wet legs back into the jeans he’d left on the floor.  He grabbed the gun he’d left on the sink and slowly opened the door.  

 

Sam still sat at the table.  The glass of the window facing the parking lot was shattered but his brother didn’t seem to notice—

 

“Sam!”

 

Dean threw himself forward.  The face, _the face_!  There was a face in the ruins of the window, staring straight at him, still as stone.  The man in the tan jacket stared at him. 

 

Dean fired three rounds.

 

Sam still sat at the table.  The glass of the window facing the parking lot was empty.  His brother didn’t register the shots or his shouts.  The man in the tan jacket was gone, but a fine golden mist remained in the air.  Dean looked around wildly, panting.  _Where, where, where?  Where is it?_  

 

Dean took an involuntary step back as the mist began to reshape inside the motel room.  The reformation was near instantaneous and the change made Dean’s blood run cold.  The man in the tan jacket had no human visage; his stony, silent face had been replaced.  With a cow’s head.  Bovine eyes stared at him, just as still, just as unnerving, and the man took a step forward.  

 

Dean started hyperventilating, images of the victims and their horrible deaths flashing before his eyes.  Slowly but surely the man in the tan jacket advanced and Dean felt his limbs growing heavier and heavier.  Abruptly, his knees gave way and met cruelly with the floor.  

 

He could do nothing but gape as the man in the tan jacket stalked closer.  He couldn’t move his arms, couldn’t lift his gun.  Sam shifted, walked to the sink of the motel room, filled a glass.  He looked at Dean, and looked right through him.  The man withdrew a blade from his jacket, leisurely.  He advanced.  The knife’s sharp edge settled at the hinge of his jaw.  

 

Pressed.  

 

Cut.  

 

 _Ached_.  

 

Dean felt blood roll hot down his neck.  

 

“Sammy!”

 

His brother couldn’t hear him.  The knife traced the edge of his jaw as gentle as a lover, as painful as Hell.  

 

“ _Cas_!

 

His voice went hoarse, skin peeled while the man watched with his cow eyes.

 

The room began to glow white.  Dean thought at first he must be losing consciousness, going into shock.  But, the man in the tan jacket stopped, withdrew his blade.  He turned, slow, taurine.  Then, Dean heard the familiar rustle of feathers and Cas, angel of saving-his-ass, appeared between the man and him.  

 

Castiel’s angel blade dropped into his hand; he struck, lightening fast.  The creature couldn’t dodge.  He absorbed the blow, flesh twisting around the blade, golden mist spilling from the wound.  His bovine jaw unhinged in a hoarse, horrible scream.  More mist spilled from his mouth like aerosol.  

 

Cas’ eyes burned white-blue.  “Und deh rah machls und droh orh oh droh sha hi,” Cas chanted. The man in the tan jacket writhed, pinned still to the angel blade.  “Yoh orh cah und stall oh orh machl seh rah teh I undi deh und!”

 

The man disappeared.  Whether he was completed destroyed or he had just vanished, Dean wasn’t sure.  He still felt blood rolling down his skin, soaking into his shirt.  Belatedly, he thought he could feel the breeze of Cas’ wings over and under the loose skin of his jaw.  The pain was waning, his hands were shaking.  Cas whirled to him, cradling Dean’s shaking body close.  

 

If Dean had possessed more of his senses, he would have pushed away.  As it was, everything was looking starry and dim.  Cas’ face was bathed in a soft glow.  

 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice was low, devestated.  “Dean, hang on.  I’ve got you.”

 

Dean closed his eyes as Cas pressed a hand to his forehead.  He burned white-hot for an instant, then it was gone. The blood still stained his clothes but his flesh reknit and sealed against his bones.

 

“Cas,” he gasped.  His chest felt tight and his muscles rubbery.  He clung to the angel, forcing his eyes to hold in their tears.  

 

It had been a long time since he’d felt that.  A long time since the push of real panic bubbled under his skin.  He felt Cas’ arms encircle him and, for a moment, Dean basked in the feeling.  Then, he pulled away, looked Cas in the eye.

 

The angel nodded, and Sam started, stumbling to his feet.

 

“Dean!” Sam shouted.  “Cas?  What the hell?!”

 

Dean sat, sprawled on the floor exactly as he had been.  Cas stood firm behind him.  He didn’t touch but his presence was pretty fucking comforting.  

 

“Hello, Sam.”

 

“Where the hell did you guys come from?  Dean—” Sam regarded his wet hair and damp jeans.  “I thought you were in the shower.  What’s going on?”

 

Dean pushed out a breath, slow and shaky.  “I—”  Oh god, what had happened?  He knew that he felt sick.  He knew that he had been terrified just moments before the reasons why were slipping away. 

 

Castiel’s brow scrunched in that way, which told Dean all he needed to hear.  Whatever had happened, they were screwed.

 

“There was a creature,” Cas muttered.  “It was here.  Dean, do you not remember?”

 

Dean shook his head.  He didn’t remember but the mention of a creature sparked a familiar feeling.  

 

“Was it—”  He paused, wet his lips.  Castiel’s eyes moved minutely with the motion but Dean didn’t notice.  “Was it a man in a, uh, a tan jacket?”

 

Castiel’s frown deepened.  “I would hesitate to call it a man, but yes.  It wore a tan jacket.  Dean, it attacked you.  You don’t remember the attack?  Calling me down?”

 

Dean stared at the floor, sheepishness and anger swirling in him.  “No, Cas,” he ground out, “can’t say I do recall.  But I figure if you’re here, things must be goin’ to Hell in a handbasket.”

 

“You might be right,” Cas muttered.  “What have you gotten yourselves into now?”

 

Sam finally moved to help Dean from the floor.  The feel of his brother’s hand was comforting, tangible.  “Why don’t you get dried off,” Sam suggested.  “I’ll bring Cas up to speed.”

 

Dean nodded dumbly.  Turning back to the bathroom, he tried to shake of the nasty feeling left in his head.  The shower was still running when he stepped in the tiny room, hot water long gone, curtain still closed.  

 

When he reemerged, he saw Sam had produced a map over which he and Cas were bent.  Castiel straightened first, pinning him with one of his more intense stares.  Dean didn’t have the gumption to try to decipher just what he saw there.  Instead, he cracked his knuckles and asked as nonchalantly as he could, “So what d’we got, Cas?”

 

Cas shook his head in an uncharacteristically human gesture.  “I confess I am…perplexed.”

 

Dean stiffened.  “And what the hell does that mean?”

 

“It’s an Ushi-Oni.”

 

“A what?”

 

“It’s a creature usually found in the southern Sea of Japan, typically with a bovine head of some sort and the body of a spider or crab.  Specifically, this one is called Gozu, or ‘cow-head’.  Though how it has taken full human form eludes me.  This is not something I’ve ever heard of.  It has been known to cause madness and memory loss to those who even hear the story of it.  It would explain your missing recollection.  ”

 

“Yeah, but why’s it here?” Dean demanded.  “I mean, this ain’t exactly a beach setting.”

 

“You are correct,” Cas murmured as he turned back to the map.  “I am not sure why it is here.”

 

Sam frowned for a moment, hands on his hips.  “Wait, I think I have an idea.  So, get this.” 

 

He tapped a few words into his laptop and turned it around for them to see.  

 

“Before the 1940s, this place and lots of small towns around had a high population of Japanese immigrants.  But, in 1942, the Wartime Civilian Control Administration was established for the forced removal of Japanese Americans to concentration camps.  One of the biggest ‘assembly centers’ is along this route, in Salinas.  What if it came over with the immigrants?  Ended up here when they were shipped off to the camps?”

 

Cas tilted his head.  “It does seem like a possibility.”

 

Sam sighed and shook his head.  “We’ll just have to research.  See what we can dig up.  Maybe Bobby’ll have something for us.”

 

“What d’you make of the ritual, Cas?” Dean asked, turning slightly to face the angel.  

 

Castiel pursed his lips in contemplation.  Dean’s eyes flicked down and he stared for a moment.  

 

“It may be a summoning ritual of some kind.  Equal numbers of men and women have been taken.  Embedding the nails in the victims and severing the legs is a way of marking and sealing the death to the location in which it was perpetrated.”

 

A thought struck Dean.  “Sammy, read me the addresses.”

 

He rummaged for a pen in his duffel while Sam pulled the victim list from the police file.  

 

“Ok, 415 South Golf Drive.”  Dean marked a fat black dot on the map.  “111 Lewis Street, 323 Sussex Way, and 278 Cypress Avenue.”  

 

“Ok, now the missing persons.  Where did they live?”

 

“278 2nd and 323 Mildred.  The hunters were reported missing around 111 Collins….and 415 Pearl Street.”

 

Dean connected the murders and the disappearances.  Two thick, black Xs stood out on the page, intersecting at one fat point.

 

“Sammy…what’s the address of the hotel?”

 

“504 Lynn Street…”

 

Dean closed his eyes.  The motel.  Wasn’t that just the Winchester luck.  

 

“Now we know the location.  But, the question remains,” Cas growled, “what is it summoning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incantations taken from canon use in SPN or from Enochian spells used in binding or banishing


	3. Day 3

Day 3

 

If he hadn’t already been running on fumes, Dean wouldn’t have slept a wink.  They abandoned the room and broke into another further down.  As it was, he barely slept at all and what he did get was fitful and plagued with nightmares.  Though stupid and chick-flicky it sounded, he was relieved that Cas hadn’t flitted his happy ass back to Heaven yet.  No, the angel had stayed, sitting at the table with a watchful eye for the rest of the night.

 

Now, Dean could hear Sam up and about, chattering on the phone to Bobby about their latest finds.  By their standards, it _was_ late in the morning and he should pull himself out of bed, but Dean couldn’t find the energy to do it just yet.  

 

“Dean.”

 

He sighed, burying his face in his pillow.  Well, so much for sleeping in.  He felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

 

“Dean, I must speak with you.”

 

He groaned.  “Yeah, alright Cas.  Gimme just a minute to get human, will ya?”

 

Dean sat up, stiffly rubbing his eyes.  When he emerged from the bathroom, Sam was gone and Cas sat alone at the table, a cup of coffee waiting for him.

 

“Sam’s gone to get you sustenance,” Cas murmured, anticipating his question.

 

Dean grunted and pulled up a seat.  “So uh,” he sipped his coffee, “what’s on your mind, Cas?”

 

The angel’s face was grave and Dean felt himself shudder.  He knew that look.

 

“Dean, I don’t know how to stop this creature.  I can’t kill it with my blade, I am unable to smite it.  The most I am able to do it banish it for an indeterminate amount of time.”

 

_Fucking perfect_.

 

“So that’s what your little chant did, huh?  Well, Cas, we got a few things to work with.”  Cas frowned at him.  “We know your angel blade don’t work but when I shot it full of silver it at least went full fizz for a while.  It might not kill it, but it slows it down.  There’s gotta be somethin’ that’ll gank it.  There always is.”

 

Castiel pursed his lips again, leaning closer over the table.  His hands clenched, which made the muscles of his forearms stand out in definition even under his coat.  Dean’s eyes traced their way up his arms; he wet his lips with a quick dash of his tongue.

 

“Dean,” Cas murmured, “I don’t know that I will be able to protect you.  Or Sam.”

 

Dean wanted to say he didn’t need a fucking babysitter, that he was perfectly able to take care of himself.  His mouth wouldn’t form the words.  Traitorous son of a bitch.  So, he was left with his only defense:

 

“Gee Cas, I get all tingly when you get possessive like that.”

 

Castiel’s eyes flashed, a look immutable and heated in them.  For a second, Dean wanted nothing more than to find out exactly what that something was.  Then, he shifted in his seat and took a sip of his coffee, effectively breaking the moment of weakness.  

 

“Dean, I—”

 

Whatever Cas had been ready to say was silenced when Sam came back through the door, a bag of McDonald’s breakfast in hand.

 

“Glad to see you’re up, Dean,” he called.  “You ready for more bad news?”

 

Dean groaned and dug through the bag Sam set on table.  Castiel sat back, watched him take a bite, then turned to Sam.

 

“What is the news?”

 

“Seems like our, uh, our neighbors a few rooms down saw the man.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow.  “You sure?”

 

“I overheard them talking about some weird dude in a tan coat standing on the corner before they turned in to the motel.  So, looks like we have our new targets.”

 

Dean chanced a glance at Cas.  “Think Heaven’ll miss you one more night?”

 

Cas held his gaze steady, and Dean swore he saw a smirk sneak its way onto Cas’ face.  “Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The evening fell quiet, the three of them staked out in Baby by the unit number Sam overheard.  Dean’s nerves were nearly crackling.  He knew to be nervous—hell, even downright petrified—but he couldn’t remember _why_.  Again, the creeping sensation of dread snuck it’s way up his spine as he stared at the dimly lit window of the unit.  

 

Sam fidgeted, shifted this way and that, fussing with his silver-loaded shotgun.  Cas though, he was as firm a fixture as always, sitting silent in the backseat, eyes front and attentive.  

 

The hour of Dean’s attack came and went.  It looked like not a creature was stirring.  The longer they sat, the more dread filled Dean’s stomach.  Then, he heard a clunk.  Not outside, but _inside_.  

 

“Dean?”

 

Sam’s gun lay on the floorboard and, when his brother leaned over to take hold, his fingers passed right through.

 

“Dean!”

 

Sam turned, eyes frantic.  He was _sinking_.  Sinking right through the Baby’s leather seats.

 

“Sam!  Sam, no!”  Dean scrambled, trying to take hold of his brother as Sam's knees slipped through the floorboards.  “Cas, do somethin’!”

 

Cas sat forward, intent on taking hold of the younger Winchester.  But nothing happened.  His hand passed right through Sam’s arm.

 

“Cas!”

 

Enochian started pouring from the angel’s mouth, infusing the air with electricity.  “Vee nu nohno kee—”

 

Dean grabbed at his brother’s translucent arms and watched him sink further and further.

 

“—ah seh peh teh poh ah—”

 

“Dean!  No, Dean, help me!”

 

“Sammy!!”

 

The phantom touch of Sam’s fingers disappeared.  He sank through, all the way through floorboards into the ground.  Dean threw the car into reverse, tires grinding as he pulled back.  He dashed from the car, staring at the ground where Sam disappeared.  Sinking to his knees, he tore at gravel lot with the butt of Sam’s remaining shotgun.

 

“Sammy, where are you?!” he cried.  “Sam!”

 

He felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, pulling him to his feet.  “Dean!  He’s gone!”

 

Dean rounded on Castiel, forcing him back until his knees hit the Impala’s grill.  “What the _fuck_ , Cas?” Dean growled, viciously trying to shake the unshakable angel.  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

 

“Dean, I tried,” Cas pleaded, placing his hands on Dean’s forearms.  “The binding spell did not hold him.  I could no more touch him than you.”

 

Dean’s rage faded and he loosened his grip on the angel.  “The Gozu didn’t kill anyone.  There was no ritual done.  Why would he take Sam?”

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel stressed.  “But Dean, I promise you, we will get him back.”  

 

Dean’s hands trembled and he took a step back, staring at the gravel.  

 

Sweet Jesus.  

 

_Sam_.

 


	4. Day 4

Day 4

 

“So, what, the damn thing gave ya the slip _and_ a red fuckin’ herring?”  

 

Bobby’s voice was loud over the speaker, grating.  Dean hadn’t slept a wink through the night.  He couldn’t.  Not with Sammy gone, _again_.  

 

“Look, Bobby, I’m tellin’ you what I know.  And all I know right now is that Sam’s gone and Cas’ angel mojo can’t do squat against this bastard.”

 

Dean glanced at Castiel, who sat rigid and tense in his chair.  Or, at least, more rigid and tense than Dean had seen him in a long time.  Dean’s anger seemed to have seeped through the air, infecting the angel with righteous rage.

 

Bobby sighed heavily.  “Look, boy, I’m just as worried as you.  I might have a little bitta good news for ya.  I went poking around the lore and struck paydirt.”  Dean perked up.  “I found what’s gonna kill it.”

 

“I’m all ears.  Please tell me it won’t be hard to find.”

 

“I’m not sayin’ that,” Bobby grunted, “but it’s better ’n nothin’.  Whatcha need is a piece of driftwood from the bastard’s native sea, carved into a stake.”

 

“Are you f—”

 

“ZIP,” Bobby cut in.  “ _And_ , seeing as how there’s more than one of these things, I suggest gettin’ a shitload of’um together.”

 

“Wait, more than—”

 

“ _Decoys_ , asshat.  You think that one monster can be several people _and_ trick your genius brother at the same time?”

 

Dean kept his trap shut.

 

“So yeah, more than one, lotsa stakes, you get me?”

 

Dean sighed, rubbed his forehead.  “Yeah, I get you.  But this bastard’s from the Sea of _Japan_.  Don’t think there’s exactly a lotta driftwood that’s made its way to sunny California.”

 

“How many stakes would you recommend, Singer?” Cas asked suddenly.

 

“Hell, I dunno.  Could be a handful, could be a whole nest of the fuckers.  As many as you can manage, I’d guess.”

 

“Bobby—”

 

Dean was cut off by the familiar fluttering sound of Cas’ adios.  “Fuck.  Cas!”

 

The angel reappeared a moment later with a gigantic basket in each hand.  “This will have to suffice.  I don’t believe there is any driftwood available now.”

 

Dean stared at the baskets.  “Jesus, Cas, you don’t fuck around.”

 

“At least someone’s got their head on straight,” Bobby groused.  “Now, Dean, you listen to me.  Keep your head clear, stay focused.  We’ll get Sam back.”

 

Dean’s mouth tightened into an angry slash.  “Ok, Bobby.  Thanks.”

 

The old hunter dropped the call and Dean pulled a knife from his pocket.  “Well, better get started.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

For a while, Dean and Castiel sat in tense silence, chipping away at the driftwood.  Sam’s disappearance kept replaying in his head.  Every time he saw his brother’s face slip below the floorboards, his stake-carving became more wild.  

 

Why them?  Why was it always them?  There was always something waiting to fuck them over, _always_.  

 

Dean slashed at his driftwood a bit too aggressively and the blade slipped.  It sliced cleanly into the meat of his hand, and he screamed in frustration.  

 

“Damn it!”

 

Violently, he threw the stake and the knife and stalked to the window.  Blood trickled down his fingertips and pattered to the floor.  For a moment, he forgot that Cas was even there.  That is, until the white-hot feeling of angel healing coursed through him.  Cas stood silently at his side, fingers wrapped around Dean’s injured hand.  He lingered there for a moment, jaw working as though he wanted to say something.  Then, Dean looked at him and words vanished along with what felt like all the air in the room.  Dean pulled his hand away and turned back to the table and the task at hand.

 

“Sorry, Cas,” he said gruffly.  

 

Castiel sighed and retook his place at the table.  “It’s alright, Dean.  I know this must be hard for you.”

 

Dean was silent, save for his scraping at the driftwood.

 

“I confess I—I’m worried for you.”

 

It had been a long time since Dean’d heard that much raw emotion in Cas’ voice.

 

“I can only reason one explanation to this situation,” he murmured, carving slowly into the driftwood.  “You have been marked, by the Gozu.  You saw it first, it tried to perform the ritual.  When it failed, it moved to the second stage, which has caused Sam’s disappearance.  I feel sure that, if we are to stay here, it will return.”

 

“Good,” Dean growled.  “Be easier to gank the son of a bitch if we can dangle a chew toy in front of it.”

 

“Dean—”

 

“Hey, I got you, don’t I?  I mean, if there’s anything on this great wide Earth that can _fight_ , it’s a warrior for God, right?”

 

Dean felt a little pinprick of guilt.  Though the sentence was harmless enough, it felt like manipulation.  Cas had shit to do, a Heaven to run, traitors to track.  And yet, just like always, here he was.  Ready to do whatever whenever the Winchesters asked.  

 

“Yes,” Castiel said softly, “you have me.”

 

Not for the first time, Dean wondered why and was more scared by his findings than he would ever admit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The dark crept quiet and foreboding back into the crappy motel room.  Dean’s exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders, but he couldn’t sleep.  Not even during the day.  Cas had suggested it, but he couldn’t stand to do it.  Not when nightmares were all that waited for him.  So he sat, jittery on the edge of the bed, waiting for the man in the tan jacket.

 

Almost 12:00 AM.  That seemed to be the hour, for some godforsaken reason, that the Gozu appeared.  Dean supposed that was when all the creepy shit liked to appear.  For whatever cause, it was definitely the supernatural hour.  The red LEDs on the digital clock flipped. 11:59.  The face appeared in the window.  Staring, staring, staring.

 

“Cas…”

 

“I see it,” Castiel whispered. “Don’t look at it.”

 

It was too late for that.  Dean could feel a familiar, suffocating heaviness begin to infuse his limbs.  

 

12:00.

 

The glass shattered.

 

Castiel swept to his feet as the man in the tan jacket advanced, ignored him.  His horrible, dead stare was only for Dean.  And, try as he might, Dean couldn’t lift the stake in his hand any more than he could tear his eyes from the creature.  His knees suddenly gave out and he fell to the floor.  He dimly registered Cas moving in the background, silent and sure. 

 

The man withdrew a blade from his jacket, leisurely.  It advanced.  The knife’s sharp edge settled at the hinge of Dean’s jaw.  Phantom, remembered pain flashed through his skin.

 

Abruptly, the creature howled, clawing at its stomach.  A thick piece of driftwood protruded from its gut, forced through so far it nearly came out the other side.  Bits of viscera and blood flecked off the point of the stake onto Dean’s face.  Just as suddenly, the Gozu stopped screaming and started _melting_.  

 

That was the only way that Dean could think to describe it.  The skin and structure of its face oozed down its neck and body, followed shortly by its shoulders, elbows.  It melted down and around the stake, leaving it to clatter noisily on the floor.  Within seconds, the man in the tan jacket was no more than a puddle of putrescence.  The weight evaporated from Dean’s limbs and he fell back, gasping.  Cas stood on the other side of the Gozu puddle, looking equally perplexed and cautious.

 

And he had every right to be cautious.  Before Dean could even make it to his feet or move away, the Gozu puddle began to melt through the cheap motel carpet.  Like Sam’s departure, it sank indelibly downward.  Unlike Sam’s departure, it began sucking down everything around it, forming a sort of vortex of air.  The walls around him seemed to bend and he could hear Cas shouting his name above the roar.  He scrambled back as far as he could, but it wasn’t far enough.  The very fabric of reality bent and crept toward him, pulling him down, down, down.

 

Suddenly, he saw Cas leap the gaping maw in the ground.  The angel landed over him, pushing him back to the edge of the bed with his momentum, holding him in place.

 

At last, he found his fucking marbles.  He wrapped his hands around Cas’ lapels.  “Cas!” he shouted just over the maelstrom.  “Get us outta here!”

 

“I can’t!” Castiel’s face was agonized.  Dean realized it was taking nearly all of the angel’s strength just to keep them in place.

 

Fear spiked through him, harsh and cold.  Reality continued to melt, the floor vanishing, offering glimpses of a reddish-purple _sky_.  Dean didn’t think he could look any more and keep his damn mind.  He forced his eyes shut and clung to the angel above him as hard as he could.  

 

Then, as soon as it appeared, the maelstrom was gone.  Castiel shifted above him slightly, but made no effort to remove himself from Dean’s body.  As he peeked through Cas’ arms, he could see sky, fucking _sky_ , spilled on the floor like an oil slick.  

 

“Cas,” he breathed, “what the hell is that?”

 

“A doorway,” the angel rumbled.

 

Dean looked up at him, dangerously close to Castiel’s face.  “A doorway to what?”

 

“The dimension below us.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean scrambled out from under the angel and gawked at him.  “What the fuck’re you talkin’ about, Cas?  Alternate dimensions?”

 

Castiel rose gracefully to his feet and offered Dean a hand.  “Yes,” he affirmed, pulling Dean to his feet.  “It is similar to traveling through time, but you’re _digging_ as opposed to shifting frames.”  Dean scowled.  “That is the easiest way I can think to describe it.  It would seem that our creature is itself a key to another dimension.”

 

“So why would it want to come here?”

 

Castiel thought a moment.  Then, understanding snapped into his eyes.  “The summoning.”

 

 _Oh shit_.  “Wait, Cas, are you—”

 

“ _This_ is what the Gozu were summoning.”

 

Dean’s ear perked.  “Were?  Wait, was that one of the other monsters?” he demanded.

 

“Yes, it was,” Cas replied, confident.  “It didn’t look like the others.”

 

Dean’s expression turned skeptical.  “You sure, Cas?  They all looked the goddamn same to me.”

 

Castiel scowled.  “Because you were in its thrall, Dean.  It seems there’s no escape from it for humans.”

 

“So why can I remember it this time?”

 

“I’m not sure,” he said shortly, shrugging his shoulders.  “I assume it’s because we destroyed _this one_ in particular, and whatever magic it used to keep you in thrall was also responsible for stealing your memories.  No creature, no thrall, no memory loss.”

 

If anyone ever asked, he would say he’d be pissed at Castiel’s observant skill.  Not because he was angry with his reasoning but because he didn’t think of it himself.  As it was, he was buying whatever Cas was selling.  The reasoning seemed sound, even for this crazy fucking situation.

 

“So, what d’we do?” 

 

Cas glanced at him.  It was brief but Dean knew the look.  “We’re goin’ down there,” Dean declared.

 

“Yes, it would seem so.”

 


	5. Day 5

Day 5

 

Dean wobbled to the edge of the doorway.  If he looked down and into it, all he could see was sky.  It looked like it’d been torched, set on a low flame and left to burn.  Cas stood next to him, brow furrowed in thought.

 

“So how d’we do this?” Dean asked.

 

Cas hummed then turned, grabbing a stake in each hand.  He faced away from the gaping hole in the ground, heels flush to the edge.  “Turn around,” he commanded.

 

“Cas, what’re you doin’?”

 

Cas held out his hand.  “Dean, trust me.”

 

Dean hesitated for a second longer. 

 

"Dean..." Cas pleaded, and Dean ached. 

 

He grabbed a few stakes himself and pressed back against Castiel’s chest when the angel’s arms wrapped around him.

 

“On three, jump backward,” Cas growled in his ear.  Dean shivered.  “Trust me.”

 

“One.”

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“Two.”

 

Cas’ muscles tensed against him.

 

“Three!”

 

Dean jumped, pulled back by the angel’s arms into the void.  The world turned, gut-wrenching.  Though his body said that he was falling backwards, his eyes said he was falling _up_.  Cas arched his back, curving his body and Dean’s through the doorway in a sort of somersault.  Gravity should’ve kicked back in, pulled them down—up— _some way_ and set them back on the ground.  

 

As it was, Dean felt a little like he was floating.  They emerged through the doorway. Dean looked back through and saw the ceiling of the motel room.  He floated down, away from the portal until his feet gently touched the ground and the angel released him.

 

“Whoa.”

 

He turned, looking for Cas.

 

“ _Whoa_ ,” Dean breathed.  “Cas!”

 

Cas stood just behind him, shifting uncomfortably under Dean’s scrutinizing gaze.  “What?”

 

Dean scoffed and made a wide, wobbling gesture with his hands.  “Uh, those!  What the hell are _those_?”

 

Cas glanced behind him at last to see what Dean was seeing.  What Dean saw were six wings.  From the look on Castiel’s face, it was clear he was just as surprised to see them as Dean.  He threaded his fingers through them, as though unsure of their solidity.  

 

“I—” He fumbled for words.  “I don’t understand.”

 

“Yeah, me neither,” Dean breathed.  He tried to swallow but his mouth had gone dry.  

 

Cas’ wings were as _beautiful_ as they were unearthly.  They weren’t feathery, like Dean expected them to be.  They were more…solid shadows, lined two by two down Castiel’s back.  Dean couldn’t see through them like he might a real shadow.  He could see the wings shape in stark definition.  They didn’t throw shadows under the burning sky.  Instead, they seemed to soak up the light and reflect it back.  Even trying to pin down a color was difficult.  At first glance, they appeared black, then deep blue, then purple.  Dean took a few steps closer.  Under observation, Cas’ wings refracted the light in places, shining almost a pale blue.

 

Dean felt his hand extend just slightly.  He snapped it back as Cas lifted his head and closed his eyes.  It looked like he was…listening to something.

 

“What is it, Cas?”

 

The angel’s blue eyes snapped open.  “Lucifer,” he breathed.

 

Dean started and stumbled back.  “No, no _way_.  We put that son of a bitch back in his box.”

 

Cas shook his head.  “In your dimension, maybe,” he murmured. “But in this one, it seems Lucifer has won.”  

 

Cas looked around, really looked at his surroundings before his gaze settled back on Dean.  Though he wasn't sure, Dean swore the angel was looking around him for  _miles_.

 

“In this dimension, Fallen angels and demons walk the Earth in their true forms.  Lucifer burned the sky.  Burned the world.”  Castiel’s voice was tight, sorrowful.  “There were no living humans left.”  

 

“So you’re tellin’ me, on top of havin’ to watch out for these fuckin’ cow creatures or whatever, we gotta watch for demons and Fallen angels?” Dean growled.

 

Cas nodded.

 

“So why’re your wings showin’?  This ain’t your dimension.”

 

“No,” Cas replied somberly, “but I am Fallen.  Even my newfound status in Heaven can’t erase that.”  Dean glanced down, guilty.  “It seems that whatever magic Lucifer is working affects me, but only partially.  Had it worked completely and my True Form was revealed, you would likely no longer be alive.”

 

Dean glanced around at the ruined city, trying to make sense of the mess.  It reminded him eerily of the end of the world Zachariah had shown him.  Everything was bathed in the horrible fiery light from the sky, the buildings cracked and burnt.  Cars sat empty and rusted, some on the sidewalk, some smashed into each or buildings.  

 

Dean heard Cas’ wings flutter with his movement when the angel stepped closer.  “Dean,” he breathed, “I think the missing people are here.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean ducked behind the husk of a car, stake gripped tight in his hands.  In a flurry and little more than a word, Cas had fluttered off after his revelation.

 

“Stay and keep watch over the portal,” he’d said.

 

Then, he was gone.  Cursing his name and everything to do with this damn case, Dean crouched by the abandoned car.  Standing out in the open made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, so he watched the doorway from his cover.  

 

The town wasn’t as eerily quiet as he thought it’d be.  It was worse.  He could hear the crackling of fire off in the distance, spiced with the same horrific bovine screams that the man in the tan jacket made when Cas’d stabbed him.  Tinkling, broken glass fell at odd intervals and Dean jumped at every noise.  

 

Minutes dragged by into an hour.  Dean was worried in the first fifteen minutes when Cas didn’t return.  Now, he was nearly frantic.  Just when he thought the waiting couldn’t get any worse, he saw something.

 

A man in a tan jacket.

 

It stood on the street corner, regarding the open portal with hungry eyes.  Dean shifted, readied his stake, and the Gozu turned to him.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, _shit_.

 

Dean could feel the Gozu’s thrall start to seep into his muscles.  Jesus, even it’s movements were horrific.  Instead of the smooth, almost floating motion the Gozu had used on Dean’s earth, this one moved with a jerky, jumping gait.  Like it couldn’t quite contain itself.  Its limbs twitched, fingers grasped at air, legs shuffled.

 

Dean stared, felt the thrall, but he also felt an advantage.  Whatever was going on in this fucked up dimension altered the bastard's power.  Dean rose to his feet, stalking toward the man in the tan jacket.

 

For the first time, Dean saw some semblance of emotion flit across its face.  Fury.  It screamed at him, convulsive.  He took another step and its countenance contorted.  It phased, flickering like some tv station with bad reception.  When it reformed, it _burst._

 

The man’s body was shredded, shed like some unwanted second skin.  Spiders legs the length of telephone poles emerged from the dissolving corpse.  The cow’s head lengthened, enlarged, along with the rest of its body.

 

“Holy _shit!”_ Dean shouted, dashing back behind the car.

 

The Gozu peered at him, cow eyes dull.  It seemed to glance at the portal, to Dean, and back to the portal.  Almost like it were deciding…

 

“Oh, _hell_ no, ugly!”  Dean climbed atop the burnt out SUV, banging his driftwood stake on the rusted roof.  “Hey, hey, over here!  Over here!”

 

The creature turned back to him and started to scuttle forward.  

 

“ _Jesus Christ!”_

 

It crawled like a spider—a fucking **gigantic** spider—all twitching gone.  Apparently, it was hard for the bug to keep its human shape here, its powers diminished somewhat.  

 

Fuck.

 

It scuttled toward him much faster than he thought, running headlong into the SUV’s husk.  Dean jumped, the car crumpled.  And fuck his luck if he didn’t land on the monster's back.   

 

The creature shrieked, flailed, trying to throw him off.  Dean shouted and hung on for dear life.  He wrapped his arms around its neck, desperate to hold to something.  Apparently, the closer proximity did nothing but make it more hungry.  The cow-head’s jaw split open.  Saliva-soaked chelicerae exuded from its mouth, taking the place of teeth.  It snapped at him.  Bent its neck to try and take a bite out of his arm.

 

Dean bared his teeth, shifted to get a better grip.  “Can’t make me dinner that easy!” he grunted.  “You gotta work for your meal, ya freak!”

 

The Gozu shrieked at him, flailed and tried to dislodge him.  Dean sat up as far as he could, took the stake in his right hand.  With his left, he held on to the cow-head’s horns.  With the right, he plunged the driftwood stake into the creature’s neck.  

 

It filled the air with an unearthly screech and if Dean thought the creature was fighting before, it was nothing compared to the death throes.  The creature bucked, fell to the ground, got up and bucked again.  Dean held on as tight as he could, but he felt his body shifting, sliding.  One final convulsion and it threw Dean from its back.  With a sickening thud and the crack of bone, he hit the ground.

 


	6. Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major character injury; angst
> 
> Possibly the worst explanation of dimensions EVER

Day 6

 

It was all just a dream.  Just some horrible, horrible dream.  Dean shifted in his bed.  A sharp, stabbing pain erupted from his collarbone and his arm and he groaned.  Ok, so not a dream.

 

“Dean?”

 

A rough, familiar voice filtered into his ears with the shuffling sound of wings.  Dean opened his eyes.  He was laying in the ruins of an attic room.  The walls were black with old smoke and fire, but the bed he was on looked brand new--probably thanks to Cas--white and crisp in ironic contrast.  And Castiel sat at the end of it, wings fluttering nervously around him.  

 

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas murmured.  

 

He moved to sit up and groaned again when he felt the snapped ends of bone in his clavicle grinding together.

 

“What the hell, Cas?” he said, teeth grit.  “Can we make with the healin’ now?  I’m not dead and this hurts like a bitch.”

 

Castiel pursed his lips in _that_ way.  

 

“What?” Dean demanded.  

 

“I—I am not in full control of my powers, Dean,” Cas mumbled.

 

Despite the pain, Dean sat up.  He groaned, cradled his broken arm in his hand and looked Cas in the eye.

 

“What d’you mean?”

 

Cas huffed and stared at the crisp white bedspread.  “I will try to explain in a way that you might understand.”  

 

Dean waited, bobbed his head when Cas didn’t elaborate.  “So?”

 

“Think of these dimensions like a…sandwich.” 

 

Dean scoffed. 

 

“An endless sandwich made entirely of meat.  Some layers are very similar to others, like…like honey ham and black forest ham.  Some are very different.  Like…chicken and ham.  Either way, they have similar attributes and can be layered together in any combination to make the whole sandwich.  If you start adding cheese and condiments, well, that’s the whole multiverse together.  That’s the best analogy I can make for the structure of dimensions that would not make your head explode.”

 

Dean chuckled, jostled his broken bones and groaned.

 

“The _point_ is,” Cas continued, laying a firm hand on Dean’s good shoulder, “that I am cut off from our dimension’s Heaven here. The meat doesn't match.”

 

“So, you’re outta gas, is what you’re telling me?  What about the portal?  Shouldn’t it be givin’ you a link up or somethin’?”

 

“No,” Cas replied sharply.  “When I found you, the creature was dead and the portal was closed.  I still have some ‘gas’—”

 

“Phrasing, Cas.”

 

“But I can’t channel it safely,” he finished.  “I destroyed several vehicles just trying to move them away from you.  If I try to heal you, there’s a strong chance I could destroy you.  If I don’t end up obliterating you, I will not have enough power to return us home.”

 

Castiel’s voice became very small at the end and he stared hard at Dean, like he was begging him to understand.  Of course, Dean was never the safest of men.

 

“Cas, you gotta try,” he muttered.  “If you don’t, I’m as good as useless in here.  We gotta find Sam and we can’t do that if I’m laid up and you’re worryin’ about me.”

 

Cas sat silent, remote.  Dean frowned, trying to think of something to get around the predicament.  A thought struck him, distant and foggy.

 

“Didn’t you say somethin’, when you were searchin’ for a weapon to use against Raphael, about souls being huge sources of energy?”

 

Castiel’s eyes narrowed.  

 

“If that's true,” he continued cautiously, “what if you pulled a little energy from mine?  That should up your mojo enough to heal me and get us outta this hellhole.”

 

Cas’ wings twitched forward, like they itched to cocoon around them both and keep out everything in the world.  “Dean—”

 

“You asked me to trust you, Cas,” Dean murmured.  “So I’m trustin’ you.”

 

Though he didn’t need it, Cas took a deep breath and rose from the edge of the bed.  As he circled to Dean’s side, his wings spread, seeming to fill all the empty space in the room.  Or, at least, they filled the empty space in Dean’s eyes, evoking a sense of awe within him. 

 

Cas stood in front of him and unbuckled his belt.  “Bite down on this,” he commanded softly, slipping the belt through his loops with a quick _snik,_ “and lay back.”

 

Dean’s mouth went dry as he leaned back and looked up at Cas.  The angel’s eyes were set, firm, but they were also desperately tender.  

 

“I promise,” Cas whispered, “I’ll try to make it as painless as I can.”

 

Dean fit Castiel’s belt between his teeth and forced a hard breath out of his nose.  He remembered how Sam thrashed when Cas had looked for his soul.  He remembered the agony.  But, if it gave them a fighting chance, what was a little more pain to a Winchester?

 

Cas rested his knee on the bed beside him.  His wings draped over Dean, forming a dark, ethereal canopy as Cas laid a hand on his chest.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Dean nodded.

 

“On three.  One.”

 

Dean breathed in.  And out.

 

“Two.”

 

Before Dean could brace himself, Castiel’s eyes began to glow white-blue and his hand sunk into the hunter’s flesh.  Dean bit down on the belt and groaned loudly.

 

Though not because it hurt…

 

Jesus, whatever Cas was doing was the opposite of what he’d done to Sam.  Instead of agony, every nerve ending was infused with white-hot pleasure.  Dean gasped, belt falling from his mouth, and Cas echoed the sound.  Dean didn’t think he’d ever gotten a hard on so fast in his life.  But with Cas above him and his hands on his soul, Dean was aching in seconds.  He reached up with his good hand, burying his fingers in Cas’ wings to pull him closer.  Electricity zipped under the feel of silk and sank into his blood with Castiel’s throaty groan.

 

“ _Cas._ ”

 

As soon as his name left his mouth, the angel quickly withdrew his hand.  His eyes darkened again but a feral look remained.  He placed his hand on Dean’s broken arm but paused.

 

“Dean, are you sure?” Cas said, voice low.

 

“Do it.”

 

Hot pain lanced through him for an instant.  Then, as soon as it began, it was over.  And Dean was left on the bed, panting, healed, and hard enough to burst.  The angel stood back, looking nervously from side to side.  The lines of his body said he was afraid.  His wings, though…

 

Dean watched for a moment, rapt when Castiel’s wings seemed to defy him.  They reached around his shoulders, like they were aching to get back to Dean’s touch.

 

“Dean, I…I’m sorry.  I can explain.”

 

Dean cleared his throat and immediately threw the walls back up.  Whatever that was, Cas was clearly uncomfortable with it.  Dean was bitterly unsurprised.  Figured, really, after touching a soul as wrecked as his…

 

“Don’t sweat it, Cas,” he said gruffly.  “Think you got enough juice?”

 

Whether it was wishful thinking or projecting his own feelings, Dean was sure he saw a flash of hurt slide over Cas’ face.

 

“I…Yes, I have more than enough.  Your soul holds much power.”

 

“Good.”  Dean got to his feet, suddenly desperate to get out of the room.  “You found the missing people?”

 

Cas was silent for a second, then he said in a rough tone, “Yes, I’ve found them.”

 

Cas’ voice skated down Dean’s spine and left goosebumps in its wake.  

 

“Where do we go?”

 

Dean didn’t like the grin look that settled on Cas’ face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean crouched once again behind a burnt out car and peered around the corner to the building Cas indicated.

 

“You sure that’s it?” he asked quietly.

 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

 

The sign out front was broken, sliding inevitably down the face of the building.  Symbols and words in black spray paint were scrawled over the facade, chipping but still visible.  Still, the words were clear: _La Barata Meat Market._

 

Dean laughed to himself.

 

“What’s funny?”

 

“The irony, Cas,” he replied, taking a stake in hand and creeping forward.  “The goddamn irony.”

 

Dean peaked around the car and checked the street.  All directions seemed clear, which made the hunter feel very uneasy.

 

“You think this could be a trap?” he whispered.

 

“Possibly,” Cas rumbled by his side.  “When I was looking for the missing people, I was found out by three creatures.  Though they don’t seem like it, they _are_ capable of higher thinking.”

 

Dean shrugged.  “‘Spose that makes sense,” he replied warily.  “I mean, they did get away with murder.”

 

He glanced back at Cas in time to see the angel roll his eyes.  Nevertheless, Cas readied his own stake and sat forward, tucking his wings neatly behind him.

 

“You want proof of their intelligence?  That building still has angel and demon warding.”

 

Dean’s eyes widened and he took a closer look.  _Fuck, Cas was right_.  Just what he could see of the building was covered in warding, guaranteed to keep the feathered ace up his sleeve out.

 

“It appears to be left from the Apocalypse, but the creatures have realized that it can be useful to them.  They're stockpiling their prey in a place where the rulers of this Earth can't get them.”

 

“Cas, there’s gotta be dozens of wards on that wall.  There’s no _way_ I can get ’um all off.”

 

Castiel shifted and leveled Dean with a calming look, his dark wings fluttering forward.  “I know,” he retorted.  “But I can watch your back.”

 

Dean looked over at the building again, then back at Cas.  With a sigh, he pulled his hand down his face and sniffed.  “Ok, here’s the plan,” he grimaced.  “There’s gotta be at least two entrances to the place.  So, I say we block off one door and leave you at the other.  I find Sam and the others, you poof us outta this hellhole, it’s a done deal.”

 

Cas looked slightly apprehensive but he nodded.  “Ok.  Let’s do it.”

 


	7. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst

Dean thought Cas could’ve been quieter.  He watched the angel fly, hulking car after car against the door that faced the alley.  Metal shrieked as gravity pulled the husks together.  Dean’s ears twitched when he heard echoing screams in the distance.  His skin itched; they were drawing closer.  

 

“C’mon, Cas, let’s do this!”

 

Cas landed next to him, close enough Dean could feel the heat of his skin.  He followed as Dean strode around the corner.  At the threshold, he paused, holding one of his two remaining driftwood stakes out to Dean.

 

“I will hold them with the banishing incantation,” he murmured.  “Otherwise, I fear that more portals will open that we will not be able to close.”

 

Dean wanted to protest but he recalled what Cas had said earlier.  “One dead opens the portal.  Another dead closes it, huh?” He scoffed.  “How the hell d’you figure that works?”

 

Cas shrugged helplessly.  “I really couldn’t say,” he replied evenly.  “It would appear that the transdimensional properties of these creatures are lost to the immediate surroundings when the vessels are destroyed.”

 

“Kinda like fireflies, smeared on the windshield and still lightin’ up,” Dean mused, more to himself than to Cas.

 

“Perhaps…” Cas said softly.

 

Dean pocketed the stake and viciously yanked the meat market’s door open, making to step inside.  Cas’ hand close around his wrist.  

 

“Dean, wait.”

 

Dean glanced over his shoulder.  “What?”

 

The angel’s jaw tightened. "We’ve been through much together, Dean.”

 

_Oh, no, was this --_

 

“If these are our last moments together, I feel as though I should tell you—”

 

 _No! He couldn’t do this now_.

 

“Cas,” Dean cut in, gripping Castiel’s arm firmly, “spare me the ‘end of the world’ speech.”  

 

Cas’ face fell, but Dean took a chance.  He moved his hand from Cas’ arm to his neck and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around Cas’ shoulders and under his wings.  He figured he’d caught Cas off his guard but he felt the angel’s firm arms circle around him regardless, like a reflex.  Even Cas’ wings folded around them, brushing Dean’s bare skin with a silk touch.

 

“Save it for when we get outta here,” Dean murmured.  "Tell me when we're settled down with a beer and all this mess behind us."

 

He buried his hands in Castiel’s soft wings, holding him as tight as he dared.  Then, he let him go.

 

Cas handed Dean his angel blade.  “Be careful.”

 

A scream rang in the air, closer now.  Dean smiled grimly.  “You too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean left Cas at the door and crept through the abandoned store as fast as he dared.  The building looked to be only one story but that didn’t rule out a basement.  He cased the whole floor, looking in every room, every closet.  

 

Still nothing.

 

He heard the Gozu shriek, this time just outside the walls.  Under the terrible noise, he heard Castiel’s chants rising through the air, tinging it with hot electricity.  

 

Dean scrambled back through the meat market.

 

“Sam! Sam, where are you?”

 

_Bang!  Bang!_

 

Dean whirled, following the noise to its source.

 

“Sam?”

 

_Bang!_

 

There!  The meat locker.  Tucked away behind the cutting counter and nearly rusted shut was the meat locker.  Dean brandished Cas’ angel blade, leveraging the corroded door open inch by inch.  The Gozu screamed again; was that Castiel yelling under the horrible noise?  Dean shoved the door open a few inches.  The stench that poured out of the meat locker was _horrible_.  Rancid meat still hung from hooks, rotting and splattering the floor with putrescence.  Dean covered his nose and forced his way inside  On the bloodied floor, lay five squirming figures.

 

“Sam!”

 

Dean fell to his knees, almost crying with relief.  Sam was here, he was fine.  No one else was dead.

 

Yet.

 

Sam wriggled on the floor, arms, legs, and mouth bound with a viscous kind of thread.

 

“Sammy, what the hell is this?  Are you ok?” Dean demanded, slicing through the sticky fibers around his brother’s mouth.

 

Sam sucked in a gasping breath.  “Dean!  Oh, thank god!  C’mon, we gotta get outta here, get us outta here!”

 

The creatures screeched as Dean cut through Sam’s bonds.  He scrambled to his feet.

 

“Hang on, hang on!” Dean shouted, cutting through the rest of the captives’ threads as fast as he dared.

 

Sam helped the abductees to their feet just as Dean heard the sound of shattering glass.  He wrapped an arm around one of the hunters and hauled him to his feet.  The two women crowded Sam, trying to push open the door.  The second hunter—Garcia—wrapped his arm around the other side of his friend as Sam shouldered the door open further.

 

“Alright, let’s go!” Dean shouted.

 

They made a dash for the front door.

 

“Cas is just outside!” Dean called to Sam, throwing his second driftwood stake.  “Try not to kill the creatures!”

 

Sam turned back to face him, eyes wide.  “Why the hell not?!”

 

“They open portals!  We got one shot to open and close the door on this hellhole.  The more you kill, the more portals we have to fuckin’ close!”

 

“What are these things?” the second hunter—Rodriguez—groaned.

 

“Fuck what they are, let’s get the fuck outta here!” 

 

Dean let Garcia take his friend’s weight.  He sprinted to the front door and flung it open.

 

The sight that met his eyes nearly made him jump out of his skin.  Cas stood as still as stone, bathed in fiery sunlight.  Before him were dozens, no _hundreds_ of Gozu.  They scampered on eight legs over and under each other, writhing like a horrible nest of spiders.  Some were disappearing, banished by Castiel’s incantation, and others pushed through, creeping closer and closer.  Hundreds of dead cow eyes stared at him and Dean felt a horrible weight on his shoulders. 

 

“Close your eyes!” he roared to the captives as he raced to Cas’ side, keeping his eyes down.  

 

A steady stream of Enochian spilled from Cas’ lips but his eyes met Dean’s when the hunter skidded to a stop in front of him, facing away from the creatures.

 

“Cas, we gotta get outta here!  How’re we going to open a doorway?” he shouted over the Gozu’s screaming.

 

Cas didn’t stop, didn’t waver in his chant, but he did stride forward.  With inhuman strength, he grabbed hold of one creature’s leg.  His wings beat the air, pulling it back to the wall of the meat market.  Without missing a syllable, he pulled the twitching creature up to the wall and shoved his only driftwood stake through its neck.

 

The portal began to open in the wall as the Gozu melted in on itself.  Dean could see the darkened interior of the meat market on the other side, all the food where it should be, sky dark and starry out the window.  He pulled the captives forward, shoved them through the dimensional doorway, stake shoved into his back pocket. 

 

The women were through. 

 

Garcia.  Rodriguez.  

 

Sam.

 

Abruptly, Cas stopped chanting.  The creatures tripped over themselves, scuttling forward.  For a split instant, Dean was reminded horribly of spiders swarming a corpse.  Saliva-drenched chelicerae clicked at the empty air.  Then, Cas was turning on him, stealing the stake from his pocket.  _Oh, god—_

 

“Cas!  Cas, no!”

 

“Get out of here!”

 

Cas shoved him through the portal, leaving him sprawled nearly ten feet away on the meat market’s cold tile floor.  It all seemed to be happening in slow motion.  Dean watched a Gozu impale the angel with one of its spidery legs.  

 

He heard Cas cry out, smelled the blood of his body and the hot ozone of his Grace as it spit through the air.  Dean scrambled to his feet, surging forward as fast as his legs was able.

 

Cas rammed his last stake through the creature’s abdomen, splattering its blood over the portal.  

 

The doorway was closing.  Melting away like so much ice on a hot summer’s day.

 

Dean ran full force into the wall of the meat market but the portal was gone.   The last image seared into his brain was Cas, body bloodied and fighting against the burnt sky.

 


	8. Day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rzuGlOGQiE for ambiance, if you like. Still self-editing so if you spot mistakes or something weird, just let me know!

Day 7

 

Dean stared at the wall.  The longer he stared, the more numbness snuck into his blood.  He could feel it creeping: disbelief, shock turning his body to ice.  Sam was saying something…something about getting the captives to the police.  He heard him tell one of the women to call 911, but all he could do was stare at the wall.

 

Tremulously, he lifted his hand, touched the rough plaster as though the portal would reopen on his will alone.  “ _Cas?”_

 

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Come on, Dean.  There’s nothing we can do right now,” he said gently.

 

A second longer, then he allowed Sam to pull him away.  He couldn’t say it—wouldn’t say it—but Sam was right.  Every shred of his being ached to stay, to find a way to Cas _right now_ , but the more or less sane part of him agreed with his brother.  That didn’t stop him from silently cursing God, Heaven, and Hell.  

 

Dean managed to hold himself in check when the ambulances arrived.  He was able to see to the hunters and the captives, making sure they were bandaged and shipped to the ER.  At last, he and Sam snuck away.

 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was slow.  Cautious.  

 

Dean didn’t answer outright but he did tilt his head in Sam’s direction.

 

“I think we should go check the other victims, just to make sure this whole thing is over.  I mean, what if Cas’ incantation didn’t get rid of them?  There’s no way he could’ve killed them all.”

 

Dean’s stomach churned.  “I—”  Words stuck in his throat.  “Yeah.” 

 

He drove silently to each victim’s home, white-knuckling the wheel.  He nodded gruff approval when Sam reported there were no more deaths.  The cycle appeared to be gone.  Whatever Castiel’s incantation had done, it seemed to have rid their dimension of the Gozu for good.  In fact, none of the families the victims left behind could even recall seeing the man in the tan jacket.  They only knew someone they loved was dead.  Dean finally turned Baby back, but he didn’t go to the motel they had rented.  Despite the fatigue pulling at his eyelids, he gunned it down the highway and didn’t stop until he reached Colorado, desperate to leave Kings City as far behind as he could.  

 

Usually, after a case like this, he’d be drowning himself in whiskey and women.  This time, all he wanted was the whiskey to burn the ache out of himself.  Sam tried talking through Nebraska, as if talking would help loosen the knot in his throat or the pang in his chest.  Dean denied Sam’s worried looks and therapeutic bull in angry silence.  Instead, he cranked the music and didn’t say a word until a familiar homestead struck his eyes in South Dakota.  

 

 

 

 

 

Dean shouldered his duffel bag and strode up the rickety porch steps.  It was midnight, but it wasn’t likely Bobby would be asleep.  He banged on the door.

 

“Bobby!  You alive in there?  C’mon!”

 

A moment, then the door opened and Dean’s shoulders sagged.  Here, there was info.  Here, he could find a way to get Cas back.  He brushed past Bobby and threw his things on the couch, ignoring the look on Bobby’s face and his soft, hurried exchange with Sam.  Dean poured himself a tall glass of gutrot and sat himself at Bobby’s table without so much as a word.

 

“Sure, c’mon in an’ help yerself,” the old man groused.  “What the hell s’matter with you, boy?”

 

Dean took a long drink and nearly shuddered when the liquor’s hot feeling settled in his gut.  “Bobby it’s uh…it’s Cas.  He’s gone.”  Dean hated the broken sound of his own voice and he hoped that Bobby would get the message without needing it spelled out.

 

“ _Oh_.”

 

Dean winced.  

 

Yeah, he got it.  

 

“Well, Dean, I mean we can look for a way to get him back,” Sam said.  “If there’s one place that’ll have the answer, it’s gotta be here.”

 

“Yeah, no shit Sam.  That’s why we’re here,” Dean snapped.  

 

“Look, you had a helluva drive.  Why don’t you get some rest and we’ll start at it fresh come daylight?” Bobby suggested, easing a hand onto his shoulder.

 

Dean wanted to shrug it off but it was a comforting gesture that he wanted more than he was willing to admit.  Instead, he just nodded and drained the rest of his glass.  Sam eased it out of his hands and put it in the sink.

 

“Why don’t you stay on the extra bed tonight?  You look like a reaper’s reject,” Sam muttered.  

 

For the first time in a long time, Dean didn’t have the energy to argue.  He dragged himself up the stairs.  Then, where no one could see him, Dean broke.  There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to fill the void aching in his chest.  It felt like he was standing face to face with Famine, the gnawing black hole eating away at his guts again.  Dean opened the door to the spare room, the smell of gun oil and disuse floating on the air and moonlight burnishing the bedspread.  Tears rolled hot down his cheeks but the anger and the anguish remained.  Sobs that would make his shoulder quake and his knees buckle were left to fester in his chest.  He left his boots in front of the door, locked it.  Then, he collapsed on the soft mattress.  Tears wet the pillow there.

 

For the first time in a long time, Dean wept.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Starlight.

 

Dean was laying under the starlight.  It was October in Arizona and all of the sky spread out before him, crisp and heart-wrenchingly clear.  He was on the ground by the Impala, blanket cushioned in the sandy plains.  One knee leant out and the other straight lay, his arms pillowing his head.  He remembered this place.  He’d taken the car after a hunt with John, left the old man sleeping off the night’s whiskey at the motel.  He’d come out just to breathe.  Just to exist.  Something in the vast emptiness…soothed him.

 

He took a deep breath and stared at the sky, enjoying the cool touch of starlight.  The sharp smell of sagebrush floated through the air.  Underneath it was a faint smell of spring water and ozone.

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean jumped, simultaneously warmed and terrified by the sight of familiar dark hair and bright blue eyes.  He sat up, looked down at his hands then back at the missing angel.

 

Cas lay back on the ground, mimicking Dean’s previous posture.  Only, it wasn’t Cas like Dean had first met him.  His familiar shadowy wings were glinting blue, reflecting the starlight in mesmerizing pinpricks of light and framing his body where he lay.  He stared at the stars, languid smile on his face.  Instead of the rumpled trenchcoat, he had only in his suit pants and shirt, which appeared bloody and torn.  Dean licked his lips.

 

“This…this is a dream.  Isn’t it?”

 

Cas sat forward with him.  “Yes.  You’re still at Singer’s  residence and I am…away,” he replied, smiling.  “But this seems like a good dream.”

 

“Cas—I tried,” Dean choked.  Traitorous tears pricked at his eyes.

 

“I know, Dean,” Castiel said softly.  “I don’t blame you.”

 

Dean hastily wiped his face.  “So…this means you ain’t dead, right?”

 

Cas’ smile grew smaller, more tired.  “No, I’m not dead.”  Dean drew a sharp breath.  “My vessel was…badly damaged during the fight.”

 

“Tell me how to get you outta there.” Dean’s voice was ragged.  “What do I do, Cas?”

 

“I don’t know a way out, Dean.  Where I am…it’s not good.  I’m ‘out of gas’, as you so succinctly put it.  All the creatures are destroyed; I cannot portal myself back.”

 

Cold fear gripped Dean’s guts.  Of all the things he wanted to hear, this was the furthest from.  “So why’re you here?  Ain’t this just usin’ up what energy you got left?”

 

Cas smiled again.  He reached forward and gently brushed Dean’s stubbled chin with light fingers.  “Your presence is…soothing.  I thought I might have one more chance to do what I should have done.”

 

Dean’s mouth turned dry; the angel’s touch was heartbreakingly tender.  He leaned forward.  “What’s that?”

 

“You shouldn’t have to ask.”  

 

Cas leaned forward, wings dancing forward to enclose them.  Slowly, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to Dean’s.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean was terrified.  And exhilarated.  There were questions, protestations that burned in his throat, but they dissolved when Castiel’s tongue dipped into his mouth.  The angel kissed him a moment longer then he drifted away.  There were stars in his eyes under the Arizona night and Dean had never felt more weak.  

 

“Dean…”

 

With a soft breath in, Dean buried a hand in Cas’ hair and pulled him back.  Want spilled out of him, filling the air in a way that was almost tangible. Heat sparked on his tongue, tasting faintly like spring water and electricity.  He let himself fall back.  Castiel followed.  His wings fluttered in the air and the sound of rustling feathers bit the quiet night.  The angel fit Dean’s leg between his knees, pushing him into the cool earth.  

 

Never had intoxication been so bittersweet.  Dean gripped Cas’ shoulders tight, held to his solid form while he could.  This couldn’t be the end; there had to be some way.  If Cas needed energy, then…

 

“Can you keep anything you get here?” Dean asked hoarsely.  “To mojo your way outta there?”

 

Cas pushed himself up.  He looked sad.  “I don’t know, Dean.”  He huffed.  “It’s a vexing feeling.  Not knowing.”

 

Dean was tentative, unable to fully accept this even in a dream, but he reached out.  He sat up again, inches from the angel.  He took Cas’ hand in a gentle hold, afraid that the whole dream would vanish if he moved too quickly.

 

“Use me,” he said.  He wasn’t pleading.  At least, that’s what he told himself.  “Like you did before.”

 

Cas looked dubious.  “What we did before may not be enough this time.”

 

“So take all that you need.  You know I can give it to you.”

 

Cas’ mouth set; even warriors of God wanted to live, despite the reputation suggesting otherwise.

 

Castiel laid his hand feather-light on Dean’s chest.  Under it, Dean could feel the same spark of heat he’d felt on Cas’ tongue.  He groaned inwardly when the angel’s touch grew hotter, delving into his being and brushing against his soul.

 

Dean gasped aloud.  His back arched.  Starbursts of blue light threaded through Cas’ wings like lightning and pleasure arced through Dean’s every nerve.

 

“ _Dean_.”

 

Fuck, even Cas’ voice had heat thrumming in his blood, making Dean hard and aching in his jeans.  Cas groaned, the noise needy and deep in his throat as he regained his position.  Dean felt the cool of the sand under his shoulders and Cas’ heat seething around him.  As before, Cas withdrew his hand and Dean closed his eyes, a familiar tendril of Grace unfurling from the angel and grazing his soul.  

 

“Fuck _, Cas...”_

 

Cas’ hips were bucking against his in short, staccato movements, like he wasn’t fully in control of it.  Dean opened his eyes and looked up.  Castiel’s eyes were achingly blue, dragging Dean down into the depths of them.  He planted his hands on either side of the hunter’s head; Dean rolled his hips into Cas.  A long, breathless moan escaped the angel’s lips.  

 

With one hand and a frantic tug, Dean reached down and tried to unzip Cas’ pants.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Cas asked, voice low, graveled.

 

“Yes.”  Dean couldn’t answer fast enough; his words felt like molasses. 

 

Castiel bowed his head and pressed his nose into Dean’s neck.  His wings arched high and Dean couldn’t resist the urge to bury his fingers in the soft texture of them.

 

Cas groaned.  Dean gripped the angel’s wings, rutting against him.  It was like holding onto fog, if it were ever to take solid form.  Blue streaks of electric light smeared through the darkness of them and they were cool to the touch.  Dense.  Dean stroked his fingers from where Cas’ shadow wings met his back, feeling every bend, every bump even if he couldn’t see them.  It felt like touching stormclouds, like waiting for the inevitable strike of lightning.  The angel sighed and through the bond aching in his being, Dean felt overwhelming pleasure.  

 

So focused was he on the wings’ temptation that Dean jumped when Castiel’s hand found its way to the zipper of his jeans.  Slowly, Cas unzipped them both, exposing Dean’s cock to the electric air, then his own.  Dean watched, helpless, hands clutching Cas’ wings.  As he felt Castiel’s member rub against his and the angel’s hand enclose them both, hot desire pushed and pulled through their bond.  Castiel’s eyes were glowing electric blue, Grace barely contained behind them.  Cas’ hand pulled once.  Twice.  Dean clenched his fingers and pleasure spiked from Cas through him, all the way to his toes.  

 

Curls of Grace threaded through Dean as Castiel set a rapid pace.  Every tug on their joined members sparked a flare of Grace in Cas’ wings, in Dean’s skin.  Dean groaned, held on as tight heat built within him.   _More_ ; he wanted more.

 

Castiel felt his silent request.  With no more than a thought, their clothes vanished; finally skin to skin.  Dean ran his fingers down the angel’s wings and bit into his tan, taut flesh.  Even the brush of their thighs together made desire flicker through him.  Cas was leaning down, jerking their cocks together and biting hot, wet marks into Dean’s chest, his neck, eliciting moans from Dean’s lips.  His legs wove behind Castiel’s thighs and pulled him closer, harder.     

 

Abruptly, Cas changed their positions, lifting Dean as though he weighed no more than air and fitting the hunter into his lap.  With one hand, he pulled their cocks together faster.  With the other, he touched Dean’s chest, pulling at the joining of his Grace and Dean’s soul.  Dean’s hand found purchase as Castiel’s wings cocooned them, feeding the bond between them, tightening the torrid feeling in his gut.

 

Cas looked at him and Dean felt as though he were being devoured.  “Are you ready?” 

 

Dean panted, groaned, unable to form any words.  Without warning, Castiel’s Grace caressed him, pushing them both over the edge.  Pleasure flooded through Dean’s soul, into extremities and bones as he came into Cas’ hand, against his stomach.  The dark of the night—or perhaps it was the dark of Castiel’s wings—lit with electric light and filled the air between them.  Someone was crying out, panting, and it took a moment before Dean realized it was him.  The light stretched, dissolving their shared dream world into whiteness.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dean awoke with a start, lurching out of his bed and panting.  Downstairs, he heard a pounding on the door, commotion and voices shouting.  Even barefoot and jeans bulging with his erection, Dean sprinted down the stairs.  

 

The door flung open, lightning crackling in the sky, the scent of ozone and fresh spring water wafting inside.  Sam stood firm, brandishing his gun with Bobby at his side.

 

“There’s no gettin’ in here without some answers!” Bobby shouted, pointing his shotgun at the intruder’s face.

 

“Dean.”  _No, it_ _couldn’t be_.  “Where is Dean?”

 

Dean surged forward, shouldering past his family and out the door into the storm.

 

“No!  No, Dean, wait!”  Sam cried behind him.

 

But he couldn’t wait, because Cas was standing right in front of him.  His wings were gone and his clothes were shredded, but he wasn’t bloody and he wasn’t _dead_.

 

Dean took a sharp breath and launched himself forward, crushing Cas to his chest and wrapping his arms around the angel as tight as he could.  He pressed his body into every line of Castiel's, relief flooding through him when the angel's arms encircled him and he heard him say,

 

“Hello, Dean.”  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, wouldja look at that deus ex machina! Thanks to all those who made it this far! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
